The Agony Column eBook

“It will come to them as a ray of light in the
dark—­my news,” he said. “And
now, thank you once again.”

We parted and I came back here to my lodgings.
The mystery is finally solved, though in such a way
it is difficult to believe that it was anything but
a nightmare at any time. But solved none the
less; and I should be at peace, except for one great
black fact that haunts me, will not let me rest.
I must tell you, dear lady —­And yet I
fear it means the end of everything. If only
I can make you understand!

I have walked my floor, deep in thought, in puzzlement,
in indecision. Now I have made up my mind.
There is no other way —­I must tell you
the truth.

Despite the fact that Bray was Von der Herts; despite
the fact that he killed himself at the discovery—­despite
this and that, and everything—­Bray did
not kill Captain Fraser-Freer!

On last Thursday evening, at a little after seven
o’clock, I myself climbed the stairs, entered
the captain’s rooms, picked up that knife from
his desk, and stabbed him just above the heart!

What provocation I was under, what stern necessity
moved me—­all this you must wait until to-morrow
to know. I shall spend another anxious day preparing
my defense, hoping that through some miracle of mercy
you may forgive me—­understand that there
was nothing else I could do.

Do not judge, dear lady, until you know everything—­until
all my evidence is in your lovely hands. Yours,
inallhumility.

The first few paragraphs of this the sixth and next
to the last letter from the Agony Column man had brought
a smile of relief to the face of the girl who read.
She was decidedly glad to learn that her friend no
longer languished back of those gray walls on Victoria
Embankment. With excitement that increased as
she went along, she followed Colonel Hughes as—­in
the letter—­he moved nearer and nearer his
denouement, until finally his finger pointed to Inspector
Bray sitting guilty in his chair. This was an
eminently satisfactory solution, and it served the
inspector right for locking up her friend. Then,
with the suddenness of a bomb from a Zeppelin, came,
at the end, her strawberry man’s confession
of guilt. He was the murderer, after all!
He admitted it! She could scarcely believe
her eyes.

Yet there it was, in ink as violet as those eyes,
on the note paper that had become so familiar to her
during the thrilling week just past. She read
it a second time, and yet a third. Her amazement
gave way to anger; her cheeks flamed. Still—­he
had asked her not to judge until all his evidence
was in. This was a reasonable request surely,
and she could not in fairness refuse to grant it.

CHAPTER VIII

So began an anxious day, not only for the girl from
Texas but for all London as well. Her father
was bursting with new diplomatic secrets recently
extracted from his bootblack adviser. Later,
in Washington, he was destined to be a marked man
because of his grasp of the situation abroad.
No one suspected the bootblack, the power behind
the throne; but the gentleman from Texas was destined
to think of that able diplomat many times, and to wish
that he still had him at his feet to advise him.